


anchor up to me, love

by MissFaber



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: "and they were roommates" on crack, Adventure, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Jon Snow and Sansa Stark Are Not Related, Jon is her colleague and guess what they're stuck in a tiny submarine together, Mutual Pining, Romance, Roommates, Sansa is a pioneering badass marine biologist in the fifties, Sansa is the only living Stark, Unresolved Sexual Tension, lowkey "and there was only one bed", mentioned Harry/Sansa, searching for a giant squid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 10:22:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21492760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissFaber/pseuds/MissFaber
Summary: “Do you think we’ll ever find her, Jon?”“I have faith in your abilities, Doctor Stark.”Sansa Stark finds herself at the culmination of her hard won career when she is granted a deep sea mission by the Smithsonian Institute to search and capture a giant squid. Determined to prove herself in her male-saturated field, Sansa is prepared for anything—except sharing such small quarters of the submarine with the handsome, kind Professor Snow, for months on end, when she is engaged to another…
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 21
Kudos: 46
Collections: JonsaWeek2019





	anchor up to me, love

**Author's Note:**

> Work title from "Anchor" Novo Amor. 
> 
> Welcome to my second entry for Jonsa week, _Tropes._ The trope in question is And They Were Roommates, but the most intense and ridiculous version possible— Submarine Mates, naturally. I have taken plenty of historical and scientific liberties here, so let's just allow them for the sake of the story!!
> 
> [Check out the photoset for this fic!](https://missfaber.tumblr.com/post/189174257051/anchor-up-to-me-love-jonsa-1950s-deep-sea)

Shireen Baratheon was the first off the bus of fifth graders, shivering in the brisk November air as she craned her neck to stare up at the dome of the Smithsonian. She had prepared for weeks for this trip; had a thoroughly researched list of exhibits ranked by priority, marked on a printed out map, and cross-referenced with her teacher—to make sure they were going to be covered in the three meager hours she would be at the Institute, the bulk of which would be spent at the National Museum of Natural History. Her fanny pack was the appropriate size, holding Davos’s cell phone (which he’d lent her in case of an emergency, and to take pictures), a water bottle for hydration, and several healthy snacks.

But despite all her preparation, her mind boggled at the enormity and wonder within the Smithsonian Institution’s walls. The Nation’s T. Rex. The Wrights’ first airplane. The thirteen foot tall elephant called Henry.

The luminous blue Hope Diamond. It was obscenely big, nearly the size of her hand when she clenched it into a fist. It was surrounded by smaller white diamonds—Shireen counted sixteen—and stretched behind it was a glittering chain.

“It’s cursed, you know,” the museum guide whispered to her. She started and looked up at him, finding him smiling conspiratorially at her. Shireen smiled back. He had told her in the Insect Zoo that his name was Oberyn, and allowed her to take part in the tarantula feeding. Most of her classmates had essentially lost interest once they were out of the dinosaur area, and she liked to think she’d somehow impressed him.

“Cursed?” Shireen ran her eyes quickly over the surrounding signs, though she’s already read them, and knew she didn’t see anything about a curse.

Oberyn nodded sagely. “The people who’ve owned it have found themselves in dire straits. Suicides, bankruptcies, death by wild wolves… this diamond’s even led to the demise of kings.”

He looked like he would have liked to say more, but Miss Crane was glaring at him and pointing at her watch. “I’ll tell you more about it when we get to the ocean,” he promised as he moved away.

In the wonderfully blue world of the Sant Ocean Hall, he kept his promise. As Oberyn crooked his finger at her and jerked his chin to the side, Shireen wished she hadn’t drawn his attention. She didn’t want to be pulled away from the vibrant coral reefs. But, ever the obedient student, she turned away from the glass and followed Oberyn to a display table featuring a large, salmon pink plastic rendering of a giant squid held up on several poles.

“We have a real one,” Oberyn told her, pointing at the squid. “We’re going to see it soon.”

“Cool! That was on my list.”

“Very nice.” He pointed at the signs on the base of the statue. “Remember the Hope Diamond?”

Shireen nodded, her curious eyes already devouring the information on the signs. _The Records of Arciteuthis Specimens by Michael J. Sweeney, of the Smithsonian Institution, hold records of every known giant squid until 1999…._

It was mildly interesting; there were less than seven hundred giant squid discovered throughout known history, a few the object of devoted scientific deep sea voyages, many of them mysteriously washed ashore. One humorously caught by accident by some New Zealand fisherman and sold for upwards of one hundred thousand dollars. Shireen looked up, the question of how this related to the Hope diamond on the tip of her tongue, when Oberyn pointed to a smaller plastic case behind the sign she was reading.

It held a newspaper clipping, yellowed with age, the edges curling and so obviously fragile. The headline was blocky and large, the cutting too small to reveal which newspaper it came from, something Shireen was itching to know.

_Smith Scientists Lost at Sea—Years of Giant Squid Research Gone Too_

Shireen’s quick eyes scanned and found a date, on the bottom right corner—November 19, 1952. She adjusted her stance, leaning forward as far as she could without toppling, so as to better read the cramped, slightly faded print.

_After four months of a rigorous search, the Smithsonian has announced an end to the search for their lost son and daughter, Jon Snow and Sansa Stark. The Secretary of the Smithsonian Lonnie Bunch looked regretful as he delivered the statement in front of the museum’s steps. The search for Castle Black, the fondly named submarine, and its two inhabitants was thorough, Mr. Bunch assured the assembly. But there were no leads and the Smithsonian board was forced to make the call. _

_Professor Jon Snow, a veteran, and Miss Sansa Stark ceased all communication with their colleagues on shore somewhere in the Indian Ocean, five months into their steeply expensive deep sea voyage. This was a hunt for the legendary giant squid; its success would have elevated the Smithsonian even further. _

_However, their gamble ended in loss. Along with the loss of materials such as the cutting edge submarine and countless funds was the loss of valuable data. Of course, the worst loss was that of two young pioneers. Neither has any living family to mourn them, but it’s clear from one look at Mr. Bunch’s face that the Smithsonian family feels their loss, along with the entire nation. _

_“Dr. Stark has left large shoes to fill,” Mr. Bunch said, high praise for the only female scientist of her department. Mr. Bunch is a trailblazer himself, the first African American and the first historian to hold his position..._

The rest of the text was too smudged to read. Shireen looked up and found Oberyn peering down at her. “What happened to them?”

“No one knows,” Oberyn said. “Their submarine was never found.”

Shireen didn’t like that. The story was fascinating, yes, but she could already tell it was going to put a damper on her day. She never was very good at separating herself from tragic stories—she felt them too strongly. All she could think of was these two lost people, the number of horrible fates they might have suffered.

“But the Hope Diamond was.”

She jerked out of her thoughts at Oberyn’s words. “What?”

“It wasn’t called that back then, of course. It was just a massive forty five carat diamond a fisherman found, so large he might have thought it fake. Or perhaps he considered himself extremely lucky. It doesn’t matter… a blip in history. He was murdered for it by the soldiers of some British naval officer.”

Shireen frowned. She wasn’t sure if a museum tour guide was supposed to be telling her these kinds of stories, compelling as they were.

“It’s cursed, you see.” There was a shine to Oberyn’s eyes as he repeated his words from earlier, from when they were standing in front of the very diamond. It’s a shine Shireen recognizes, one she’s seen in the mirror when she’s fixated on a story or a line of research.

“That diamond’s always led to dark fates… a very real jewel from Aladdin’s Cave of Wonders. It’s too big, too lovely, an affront to the gods. Anyone who’s touched it, anyone who’s had it in their possession for a single minute, has died.”

Shireen swallowed. “What does that have to do with the scientists?”

“Some believe Sansa Stark had the Hope Diamond. She was engaged, you see, to an oil magnate of the day. He gave her the diamond, his most prized possession, to show his love… and she took it with her to remember her betrothed when she was parted from him, leagues under the sea…”

Despite herself, Shireen was fascinated. The love story made it even more tragic. She found herself wishing she could go back to the Hope Diamond and look at it with this new knowledge. She found herself repeating their names in her mind, _Sansa Stark and Jon Snow, Jon Snow and Sansa Stark, _wanting to remember so she could research them further when she got home.

* * *

_May 22, 1952_

“Do you think we’ll ever find her, Jon?”

The lamps were dimmed. Sansa was exhausted, he could see it on her drawn pale face. Their days didn’t involve much motion—it was impossible, in such a cramped space—yet every day was exhausting, even more so three months into their mission.

“I have faith in your abilities, Doctor Stark.”

The gentle, grateful smile she gave him was a gift. Jon collected these gifts, kernels of affection he hoarded in a deep and secret place in preparation for a rainy day.

He didn’t know what that day would look like, exactly. It could resemble a number of differing, depressing images. The day they’d return to land victorious, and Sansa would leap into Harry Hardyng’s arms, the two of them laughing and sipping champagne in some ballroom rented by the museum that night, Sansa looking glorious on Harry’s arm, and Jon being forced to watch. The day they’d return as failures, and the circle of Harry’s arms would provide comfort. Or their wedding day—Jon would be invited, of course—on the National Mall or the Botanical Gardens or Harry’s estate, Sansa in a white wedding dress, leaning up on her toes to press a binding kiss to Harry’s mouth.

Jon bunched his fingers into a fist underneath the table, grateful Sansa was poring over data and not paying any attention to him at the moment. Harry didn’t deserve her. Jon remembered her tears in the months preceding the mission, after they finally secured both approval and funding, a yearlong battle. It should have been a happy time, full of anticipation and the most pleasant sort of nerves. Yet Sansa’s victory, for it was _her _victory, was dimmed by her fiancé’s refusal to allow her to go.

It had seemed that it was every other day she announced to him, grimly and with reddened eyes, that she wouldn’t be embarking on the mission after all. Thankfully, Jon kept her from saying such thoughts to the higher ups, knowing they were looking for any opportunity to remove her from the operation. There were many in the Smithsonian that were reluctant to grant this mission to a woman.

“This is _your _mission, Doctor Stark… if you’ll permit me to speak so candidly,” he’d say to her.

Her response was always a defeated smile, and once: “Castle Black will do just fine without me.”

A painful, humorless deflection. _There is no Castle Black without you, _he wanted to say, but he couldn’t bring himself to cross that line.

Before the months shared in the tiny vessel, Jon was even more appropriate with her, observing every manner of decorum. He was careful to never touch her hand when passing a document, careful to keep the door open whenever they consulted, even on the late nights when it seemed it was just the two of them in the museum.

The Smithsonian had been their home, the sanctuary of two lost children fascinated with the natural world. Jon was orphaned young (Sansa, too, a bond that had connected them instantly) and the absent care of the foster system left him with many hours to fill with little money. After the war, he’d found comfort in the same place he had as a child; in the study of the natural world, specifically the ocean. His pursuit of higher education and then employment in the Smithsonian had led him to one accomplished marine biologist, the brilliant and devastatingly beautiful Dr. Sansa Stark.

She sat not two feet away, her nose in the special leather volume he was not permitted to look into. “A lady is allowed her secrets,” she’d teased him once, but Jon knew it was filled with data on the giant squid—her passion, her lifelong search. Perhaps the pages held half-formed ideas, tentative theories, notes she wasn’t ready to share with the world yet.

Her hand was in her hair, which she’d tied into a loose knot atop her head to keep out of her face. It was one of her nervous habits. Jon knew her nerves were rattled. Two days before they’d communicated with Dr. Thorne, the head of the Department of Living Animals. He was not pleased that they had nothing to report. Dr. Thorne was expecting their failure, specifically Sansa’s failure, though he’d made it clear that he wasn’t too fond of Jon either. But Sansa vexed him, her existence an offense to his worldview; that a woman, a young and unmarried woman, would be given her own mission, her own command.

Jon was determined to prove him wrong, to help Sansa find her victory and her vindication in the form of one giant squid.

“I think I see our mistake,” Sansa said, pulling him from his thoughts. “Look here.”

All too quickly she stood and shuffled over, standing behind him and leaning over to point at the document. Jon stiffened and fought the instinct to sit up straighter. He could feel the swell of her breathing against his back. A loose lock of her hair brushed against his shoulder.

"The direction of the krill… we should have gone northwest. What do you think?”

Jon consulted the paperwork, then nodded. “We’ll adjust our course tomorrow?”

“I think we should do it now. I’d hate to lose our lead.”

“Yes, Doctor Stark.”

“Jon, how many times must I ask you to call me Sansa?”

He swallowed, grateful he had already turned for the gyrocompass. “Always once more.”

Sansa sighed, though it sounded amused to his ears. Three months in such a small space was an intimate lesson in all the minutia that composed a person, and Jon was attuned to her, would be able to identify and differentiate between ten of her sighs. He was eager to learn more.

“She’s a tough one,” she said, her voice distant as if she’d already moved into the connected room. Sansa liked to refer to the squid this way—she, her. This wasn’t borne of fancy; on one of the early days of their journey, Sansa had analyzed the possibility of genders and distilled the information into a graph, revealing a sixty two percent chance that the giant squid would be a female.

“She is,” Jon agreed, but he was hopeful. Sansa was tough, too.

* * *

Tacked up on the wall in the tiny bedroom was a detailed anatomical drawing of the giant squid. Jon remembered the first night here, the way Sansa had unpacked and unfurled it carefully. After she was in the can, he had studied it with his nose an inch from the parchment. It was stunningly detailed, and done by Sansa’s own hand, she revealed later. She was a gifted artist as well, he learned that day, yet another one of her talents.

To call it a bedroom was generous—it featured two narrow cots, bolted down, separated by mere inches. A submarine was, by definition, compact—and not manufactured with a woman’s propriety in mind, as it was commonly men on these voyages.

Their first night on board, Jon had paled while Sansa had reddened when they saw their sleeping arrangements. He’d immediately offered to sleep on the floor; a futile proposal, as there was barely enough floor space where a man could lie down. It seemed every inch had a chair, a table, or a piece of equipment bolted down.

“Don’t be silly, Jon,” she’d eventually responded. “There’s nothing we can do… in any case, there’s _two_ beds. See?”

It seemed an important distinction to her, even if it felt to Jon like they were sharing a bed.

He wondered if Sansa’s fiancé knew she was sharing such close quarters with him. He had met Harry once, and the man seemed sharp—he had to be, a self-made man with such a large fortune—but dim, too, at least when it came to Sansa. Like he was looking at her through distorted lenses, seeing what he wanted to see, dismissing everything else.

Most nights, Jon could feel the heat of her body at his back. Sometimes her unbound hair would stretch into his space, tickling his face and his neck. She smelled fresh, like lemon, an oil he saw her rub into her hands and brush over her hair every night.

Jon watched her do this now, standing in front of her drawing of the giant squid, where she’d also hung a small mirror. Her copper hair, loose down her back, gleamed in the low light. Her nightgown was diaphanous, one of a set she’d packed when she wasn’t expecting to sleep in the same room as him, and she wore a sweater over it, unfailingly, every night to bed. Still, the sweater was short, and Jon was grateful for the low light so as not to be tempted by the sight of her curves.

“Goodnight, Jon.” She spoke when she was settled in her bed, curled away from him, their nightly ritual.

“Goodnight,” he responded, as he always did, whispering her first name in his mind.


End file.
